Dudes, I Know Kung Fu
by otisreddings
Summary: The OT7 - that's the 1997 Gryffindor Quidditch team, minus Harry and with the addition of Lee Jordan - are spies in this. But it's not really in order and tbh barely even tells a story. Living the dream.
1. pm all you need to know up in here

It's 8:42 when Lee and Katie lose video feed in the van.

Katie starts in on Lee immediately, berating him—Get them back, Lee, we need to be able to _see_ them in order to _help_ them—and Oliver is on the audio feed. Bell? Jordan? He only ever uses their surnames. Katie wonders if he'd still use her surname in bed, but then stops herself because that's unprofessional. Speaking of unprofessional, Lee's on the comm with Angelina in the vents, telling her he'll get her fine body back up in no time. Multitasking—hacking into the embassy's security servers while sexually harassing his immediate superior. Fred and George buzz in from the basement to see what's going on, and Lee tells them he'll get _their_ fine identical bodies up, too, if everyone could just stop _bothering_ him while he's being a _genius_. Alicia doesn't know anything's wrong because she's too busy tangoing with a terrorist. Katie reads code over Lee's shoulder for a bit and then swears loudly. Oliver's in her ear, like Bell? Bell, what's going on—we have a very small time window, Bell, and if we're going to be flying blind I need to know. Something's wrong, Katie says, and Lee shakes his head. It's not us, Oliver, it's them. _What_? Oliver's yelling in the comm mic now. Lee's yelling, too. The security feed blew out. It's not our tech, it's theirs. The whole building is dark. Someone else is—

It's 8:51 when they lose audio, and everyone's comms go silent.

Fred and George are in the basement with the explosives when this happens, and Fred straightens up almost instinctively, pale freckled face whipping around to check for unwanted company. George laughs, because Fred and George always laugh—at everything and at each other. Fred's not laughing right now, though, so George laughs for both of them. It's _fine_, he says, and checks his watch. We know the protocol, man, what are you freaking out for? Fred grabs George's arm and his comm buzzes. See? George says. Feed's back up already. Ten bucks says that's Lee buzzing to ask Angelina to reward his tech services.

But George's comm doesn't buzz with his brother's, and when Fred answers his he's turned away so George can't hear. He hangs up without saying anything and turns to George, white-faced and shaking.

Listen, he says, and the laugh dies in George's throat, because something is wrong. Listen. They're going to come for you.

Freddie, are you all right? I think you've—

No, George, _listen_. You have to run. You're not going to get out of this one. You're fucked, and I'm sorry, because it's my fault. But you gotta run. Don't let them catch you, George, because they'll crucify you. If they do, though—

Oh, thanks, about to be crucified and you ask for a favor—

_If they do_, there's some stuff I want you to say to Angelina. But, you know, don't get caught. Okay?

Okay, George says, but it's not okay and he's confused.

Okay. Now—

The lights go out.

When the camera comes back up in the van it's 8:54 and Fred is dead. George is staring gobsmacked at the cameras with his gun in his hand. Katie and Lee stare at the image a beat too long and then there's chaos—security patches through Lee's virus and spots the agents. Katie tells them all to get the hell out and they meet at the van, breathing heavy, Alicia with her heels in her hand. Fred's not with them.

Neither is George.


	2. he's the prettiest girl in cece's pizza

He wakes up and, for a moment, thinks he might still be asleep.

But no—there she is, sitting in the moth-eaten armchair in the corner, staring at him with a hard expression on her face. He pulls his Smith & Wesson out from under his pillow but by the time it's out she's armed herself, too. They stare at each other over the barrels of their guns.

"I don't know if anyone's ever notified you, but watching someone sleep is not generally socially acceptable behavior," he says. She smirks.

"I don't know if anyone's ever notified _you_, but you snore."

He's struck momentarily with the full weight of how much he doesn't _understand_ her. He's never bothered to try. She's always been upper management to him, Oliver's right hand—Alicia's best friend, sure, but he's never had enough one on one time with her to figure out why. Seeing her now, however, in his dingy motel room in her usual beat-up attire, gun in hand, smirking, he can sort of see it. Why Alicia likes to keep her around. Why Lee's so into her. He's never noticed how, well, _striking_ she is. He thinks it must be the adrenaline. He knows the jig is up.

"Well?" he says warily. "What's the game? Where's the rest of them?"

"Two cities over," she replies. "They're being put up by someone in the private sector. They'll be on you in a few hours. Five, at most."

"So they sent you ahead? To detain me?" She doesn't answer, so he nods toward the gun in his hand. "Messy plan. Not of your caliber, I gotta say. You should have disarmed me." Still nothing. He feels too vulnerable—naked, almost, but maybe that's because he's been sleeping in his boxers. "I'll run," he blurts out. "I've been running. I've got a gun on you. I'll just run faster."

"Not fast enough," she says, and sets her gun down on the little coffee table next to her chair.

This he was not expecting. They stare at each other a little longer and something starts to dawn on him. He blinks. "Just before they cut the lights in the embassy," he says slowly, "Fred told me that if you caught up with me he wanted me to give you a message." She keeps staring, but her blank expression starts to look a little forced, so he presses on, gun still trained on her forehead. "Not to Lee, or to Oliver, but to you specifically. Do you know what he wanted me to say to you?"

It's a shot in the dark and it clearly catches her off-guard. After a long pause, she speaks. "I might have an idea." She pauses again, but cuts him off when he starts to reply. "Don't tell me." This is different—her voice seems smaller, somehow. Her composure is slipping. He doesn't understand why and decides not to press it—but she's not done. "I don't want to know." Suddenly her gaze shifts; she won't meet his eye.

"He didn't get a chance to say anything, so you're in luck," he says grimly. He decides to press this small advantage, to test these small cracks in her usually unruffled facade. He goes with his gut. "Angelina, does Wood know you're here?"

"Orders are to hunt Fred's killer," she says bluntly, blankly, as if this is the most obvious, mundane thing in the world. "You're hunting Fred's killer, Wood's hunting you. I decided to skip the middleman."

He stares. This situation is proving to be extremely difficult to process. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," she says, "but considering I could have arrested you six ways from Sunday by now and am instead offering to stick with your sorry ass, that could be a start." She sounds like she's talking to a child. He supposes this should rankle him, but he just finds himself excessively amused. "Besides, I found you within three days of arriving in this country. You're not going to make it much farther without me."

He pauses and considers his options. She has a point. He lowers his gun.

"Good," she says. "Now put your pants on and tell me everything you know so far."

He laughs as he scrambles out of bed and hops around looking for his jeans. "Angelina Johnson, going rogue for little old me. Don't I feel like the belle of the ball."


End file.
